


/circles

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: The Eltingville Club
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Slurs, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Following the comic convention, an overdose forces the club together again.
Kudos: 8





	1. /"do you want me to describe death?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The late-night phone call.

Hospital lights were a horrible thing to wake up to. Especially when Josh had been hoping he wouldn't wake up at all.

In his bleary vision, he could see a few prying hands. A flashing penlight in his eye. He remembered what he'd done. Come home, for starters, to his mother, worried sick and a bit annoyed because somehow he was still managing to get beaten up. He told her he wasn't hungry, which really should've been the first sign of something terribly wrong, and drew a bath. Nude, he took up half of the wall mirror, feeling hideous. Subhuman, even. In his clammy hands, a flask and a bottle of xanax. 

He must've taken twenty-something pills, and washed them down with Jack Daniels. Then he sunk into the tub, and in his deoxygenated euphoria, his sight filled with purples and yellows. Colors blossoming at the edges of his eyes. As a Jew, he didn't believe in Hell, but if he did he'd probably go there. He'd fit right in, trading greasy handshakes with Adolf Hitler and Ted Bundy, content in the knowledge that he himself was worse than both. Darkness edged in, almost staticky in its texture. He'd considered just sliding a blade down his arms, but didn't wanna leave a mess for his mother, who'd already done so, so much for him. Hopefully she wouldn't be too mad.

Whatever happened after that was a blur. He was set in a hospital bed and stayed there awhile, they funneled activated charcoal down his throat and he vomited a thick, black sludge of melted pills while his mother stood in the waiting room. He shook and cried and felt so incredibly, painfully useless, he couldn't even die correctly. Nothing could console him. Nothing and nobody.

Then after hours of half-consciousness, he rose, looking somehow worse than usual. Somehow he felt too warm and too cold at the same time, when his mother finally walked in, and gave him a good scolding for causing all of this trouble, because _I'm not made of money_ and all that. Josh didn't argue, he was far too tired to. Every time he looked in her eye, he was reminded that he, a grown-ass man, still lived with his mother. She should've been living out her golden years like a queen, not taking care of his sorry ass.

But then, the bombshell.

"I was really worried you might die, so I called all your friends and told 'em. Expect visitors.

He balked.

"But ma, I don't _have_ any friends."

* * *

Jerry wasn't really the type to receive 2 AM phone calls. He was averagely social, but not with anyone who might make a 2 AM phone call. If his girlfriend needed something, she could just say so, since they were sitting next to one another watching _The Room_ and laughing. So to receive a 2 AM phone call was brand-new. Jerry hoped, prayed even, that it was Bill, calling to apologize for everything he did. But he knew Bill better than anyone, and was almost certain that wasn't the case. In spite of it all, Jerry would still forgive him.

Imagine the shock when he picked up and heard the gravelly voice of Ms. Levy, formerly Mrs. Levy until her husband got hit by that truck. (A thing that Josh shrugged off at the time. In fact, Jerry never even saw him cry about it.) She stammered out something about her poor poor boy, what happened to him, what happened to her beautiful son. Jerry implored her to slow down.

Within about ten minutes, he managed to calm the woman enough to hear what she had to say. Josh (poor poor Joshua oh what happened to him) had disappeared into the bathroom, and when she came to check on him he was drowning in the tub, with an empty pill bottle floating on the water's surface, and oh God he might be dead, he killed himself, oh God. Jerry tried to be calm, tried not to imagine what it looked like. An island of flesh, brown hair in watery swirls, the orange bottle bobbing like a buoy, his eyes vacant and half-lidded in a sort of postmortem bliss. Tried to ignore the fat lump in his throat, that felt like he'd swallowed a glass marble, the kind that meant tears were coming. He also tried to explain it as best he could to his girlfriend, while also making it clear that he didn't want her to come.

It'd been the first time in awhile that he took a drive alone. He hated driving alone, or even being alone, because he had to stew in his own thoughts. He turned on the radio, desperate for something to drown out his own thoughts.

_This is your fault, your fault, your fault._

He hated those fucking college radio stations, the ones that played shit like The Mountain Goats. Shitty music that made him cry so hard he had to pull over and think about every _mean, nasty thing_ he'd said to Joshua Levy over the years. In honesty, he'd been better to him than Pete or Bill, but that was to be expected. He was the nice one. When someone came to him it was because they were hoping for decency, and he'd failed beyond any shred of doubt.

Fuck, why didn't he stay in that car?

Josh could be dead.

It was a long way to Eltingville from where he now lived. Josh had never moved, nor had his mother. By the time he'd get there, Josh could be stashed in a morgue somewhere while they stuffed cotton up his nose. He wondered how long it'd be. How long he had.

What the hell happened to them?

In another part of the world, Pete Dinunzio was numbly shoving his possessions into a suitcase. He wasn't sure if he actually intended to stay in Eltingville for that long, but figured he was better safe than sorry. He'd never thought very hard about why his response to everything was anger. Why he was angry about this, and who he was even angry _at_. Okay, well, he knew the last one: Bill, that son of a bitch. This was Bill's fucking fault.

As far as Pete was concerned, he'd been a saint to Josh for as long as they knew each other. Sure, he ribbed on him for his weight sometimes, but so did everybody else. The guy knew that he didn't mean it. Pete almost never meant anything he said, unless it was a horror movie hot take.

No, this was one-hundred-fucking-percent on that bastard Bill Dickey. Pete would kill him if he had the chance, no questions asked. Pushing down half a bottle of tequila was the only way he'd be able to stay sane, even though he did have to drive, and quite a distance. Him and Jerry had been friends years before the club, and they never had any problems until fucking Bill came along. And Josh came along as well, but Pete didn't think it was on Josh. Even if it was, he'd hate to think disparaging thoughts about a man who could be, you know--

Pete pushed the thought out of his head. Despite being a purveyor of horror and gore porn, he hated to feel emotionally challenged.

Josh was probably fine, anyway. The big lug could eat his way through nine marshmallow factories, no way a few pills would take him out. Pete was shocked he even needed to be hospitalized. He wasn't merely a walking pork sausage, he was also tall as fuck. It briefly occurred to Pete that he probably shouldn't call Josh stuff like "pork sausage", but that would imply Josh had no sense of humor. _Everyone goofs on me for being short, and I'm cool with it. Whatever, y'know?_

At least, he hoped so.

He wasn't responsible for any of it.

Maybe the stuff at the con, yeah, he could've handled that a little better. The fresh bruises on his face were as grim a reminder as any. But he and Josh had been tight. Thick as thieves, until that shit with the comic book store. Then he couldn't stand the sight of him, because he reminded him so much of Bill.

Bill probably wouldn't even show up.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Bill did indeed intend to show up.

He wasn't sorry. That'd be a retarded thing to say. What did he have to be sorry for? He'd been right -- like he usually was -- and everyone got all pissy about it. Josh was being overdramatic, probably even lying. Or his mother was lying. Either way, someone was lying. Josh was always a compulsive fucking liar, a self-centered piece of shit who'd do anything to get what he wanted. Pete ignored it, and Jerry practically encouraged it.

He considered just not turning up. Show that fat bastard real disappointment. But no, that was probably too kind of him. Bill was not merciful, nor was he empathetic. No, he'd show up, and he'd tell that lardy fucker _exactly_ how he felt about everything. The club, the way things ended, everything they'd ever experienced together.

_Fuck him._

He couldn't wait. A sick sort of pleasure rose from it, a desire to tell Josh how he should've died. He SHOULD'VE died. Cut deeper. Tie tighter. Sink lower. If Pete and Jerry were there too, well, that was just a bonus. Show them what it really means to fuck around with Bill Dickey. He still lived near Eltingville, after all these years. It was almost like this was meant to happen. Finally, his high school dream of taking those three fucks down kicking and screaming into the pits of hell would be realized.

And yet...

Somehow, when he closed his eyes and thought of Josh Levy, bedridden and strung up with IVs and shit, it made him feel some kind of ill. He sure as shit didn't feel bad about what he'd said. Maybe it was just because it felt like punching down. After all, Josh had always been Bill's inferior twin in many ways. Both were kids of single mothers, little silly-looking dorks with shitty eyesight. Bill always sat separate from the other students because of a nut allergy, and Josh sat with him due to crippling anxiety that ran through his childhood. He was too nervous to sit with other people. Then they both found out about a mutual interest in comics, Pete and Jerry got involved, and the rest was history. But Josh had always been Bill's inferior. Ugly, with low self-esteem and an unstable mind. Bill knew he'd get laid before Josh -- it still hadn't happened yet, of course, but it'd happen first. 

This was just yet another cry for attention from Josh, who was obviously too weak and pathetic to just _ask_ for the acknowledgement he sought. Bill was going to give him a fucking reality check, no holds barred. And hey, maybe everyone would finally realize he was right, and things could go back to how they used to be -- not exactly the same, but close enough. Maybe Jerry would dump that shit-cunt girlfriend of his. In a strange way, Bill did long for years before. The power he wielded, it made him feel whole.

He may not get his power back, but he would get his pride.


	2. /visiting hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to form.

Bill always sat for lunch by himself. He had a really bad peanut allergy -- not so bad that he couldn't be around other people eating peanuts, but bad enough that every teacher and lunch aide thought that was the case. So he sat at the special table, where all the kids with allergies went, apparently. It seemed like nobody else in the whole school had them, except one other kid, who'd sit on the opposite end of the table. Bill knew him, sort of. Josh Levy. They'd both always get chosen last in P.E. because Bill was "shitty at sports" and Josh was "fat and lame". But they'd never spoken, so it came as a surprise when one day, Josh approached him.

"Your lunchbox..." He mumbled. Bill blinked. It was a brand-new _Star Wars_ lunchbox, pure metal.

"What about it?"

"It's- I like it."

"...Thanks." Bill took a bite of his sandwich as Josh continued to stare. "Ugh, it's from _Star Wa_ \--"

"Yeah, it's C3PO and R2-D2... obviously."

Bill balked.

"You like _Star Wars_? Holy shit!"

"Don't cuss so loud! What if the lunch lady hears us..." Josh looked nervous.

"You're the first person to not call me a nerd."

Josh held up a finger before running off. He then returned with his own metal lunch pail, showing an image of Han Solo and Chewbacca on the side. It was pristine, most likely just as new as the one Bill had on his own person. "Woah! That's so cool! You should be sitting over with everyone else, what are you allergic to?"

"Uh... people."

"Wuh?"

"My dad, uh, says I'm allergic to people."

"Well that's not possible, you're right here."

"I know, th-that's what I said! But, nobody lets me sit with them. They call me a big stupid fatty nerd boy."

"Wanna be friends?" Bill grinned. Josh grinned back, his a little more tentative.

"You mean it?"

"Heck yeah! You should come to my house so I can show you my toys!"

An achievement for any nerd -- their first nerd friend.

* * *

For today, Josh and his mother were NOT on speaking terms. That bitch, fucking absolute wench, cunt, he'd _kill her_. She invited those fucking, those goddamn, those INGRATES. He couldn't handle this shit right now. Not after spewing xanax out of his mouth at three in the morning, not after that fucking convention. He'd rather die. (Then again, that's what was supposed to happen.) The only good thing about this situation was that maybe a steady diet of shitty hospital food would help him lose some fucking weight.

 _Bill_.

He didn't wanna see Bill. He never wanted to see Bill again. What the hell was wrong with her?

Josh buried his face in his pillow and had a good cry, just out of sheer frustration and exhaustion. There was nothing he could finish himself off with. Maybe if he fashioned these sheets into a noose... No, they'd never hold. _Fat. You're too fat to hang. Fuck you._

As soon as the door opened, he threw the sheets over his head.

"Josh? Bud?"

_Oh, fuck you Jerry. On with your "c'mon guys" bullshit, fuck you, I'm not your bud._

"Josh, I can see you."

"Nnh." Josh groaned, sticking his head out. Jerry was still bruised, but perfect. Of course he'd get laid. "Why the fuck did you come?"

"Well, your mom called, for one." Jerry set his shoulderbag down. _Ooh, that bitch, that bitch!_ "And even though you treat me like shit, I still care about you."

"Sounds like your fault."

"If I regret it later, you can say you told me so." He pulled up a chair, sitting by Josh's bed. Josh hated how hard it was to be mad at Jerry. Jerry, who loved the club unconditionally, even after everything they'd done to him. 

"You deserve better than being here."

"I couldn't be a no-show in good conscience. You might hate me for it, but it's true."

"I don't," _hate you,_ "think it was really necessary. I'm getting out tomorrow."

"Getting out? Shouldn't you go to a psych ward?"

"I don't have that kind of fucking money, Jerry. Besides, therapy's a hack job when you can just fucking buy prescription pills illegally."

"You don't even have a xanax prescription?"

"No. What a fucking waste. What a goddamn fucking waste of money they were, didn't do jack shit."

"Well, they, uh... aren't for everybody."

"You didn't bring your girlfriend, did you?"

"No." Jerry's expression faltered a bit. "Do you dislike her, too?"

"Fuck off. God, shut up. Fuck you."

"Okay, Christ, I'm sorry." Jerry threw up his hands. The awkward silence was soon enough broken by the door opening once more. Unfortunately, it wasn't Josh's mother. It wasn't even Pete. For the first time, God, he wished it was Pete.

The nearest hospital to Eltingville wasn't super far from town, but it wasn't super close either. Bill had to take a moment outside the front door, imagining the solid 30-45 minute drive with Josh's fat, drowned body in the back of an ambulance. Did people look through the window with suspicion as it passed? _What the hell is that giant beige thing? Is it a corpse, or is it Moby Dick? And why's that white hearse smell like Kraft Mac & Cheese?_

Snrk.

Before he could get much of anywhere, he was practically tackled by Ms. Levy, who absolutely wept into his shirt. Still such a short woman, even Bill towered over her now. _Tiny. Tiny tiny old lady._ She was a whole mess, probably couldn't remember that Bill was the comic shop fire kid after all these years. He practically had to peel her off so he could go see the ol' hog Joshie, who was apparently on the second floor. 2-E. Was the E... for Eltingville? Gives one a lot to think about. The big-ass elevator rose, full of sterile, white lights that seemed to flicker constantly. (Whether or not they were _really_ flickering was a mystery.)

He must've entered at just the right time, because it was uncomfortably quiet. Time to make things interesting. Josh immediately responded with a squeal and a loud declaration that he "gotta take a shit" before running away. (Bill had never seen Jabba run so damn fast.)

Jerry balked.

"I didn't realize you were coming, Bill."

"Well, I almost didn't, because I hate you."

"I think it, uh, might've been better."

"Sorry I interrupted your little fucking queer talk with The Blob, Jer."

"God, you..." Jerry sighed, slumping over in his chair. "Why did you come?"

"Uh, because I'm nice. Even to shitty ex-friends like you guys."

"I believe that like I believe werewolves are real." 

"Well, then, _awoo_ or whatever." Bill looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "He'll be back, right?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't."

"Yes you would, you're too much of a pussy to walk out on me, dude." He began to shuffle around, hands in his pockets. "Looks like Pete's running late. Or skipping out. It'd be so _like him_ , y'know? He's such a dickhead."

"Sure," Jerry pinched his nosebridge, "sure, that's like him. Can you maybe, like, apologize to Josh when he gets back? For, you know, almost getting us murdered at a comic convention? And also calling him a fatass for almost ten years?"

"You called him fat too, motherfucker should just lose some weight. Nobody told him to eat like, twenty packages of Wonder Bread."

The door opened. It was Josh, now returning with Pete, who looked as shitty as he did yesterday, if not moreso. Pete had to very gently push ol' Big Chungus into the room. Bill couldn't keep himself from cracking a smile at how Josh looked in a hospital gown with his hair undone. Pete could probably name a horror movie character just like that. (Get a few prosthetics and Josh would be one terrifying movie monster.)

"Bill." Josh still stood miles over him -- okay, not _miles_ , but a few inches. "What the hell do you want."

"Uh, to see you?"

"You don't wanna see me! You _hate_ me! You _always_ hated me!"

"Always is a really strong word."

"You always did!" Oh, he was really shouting. "You all did! Fuck you!" Jerry and Pete seemed to jolt a bit at this statement, but Bill didn't falter. _What a fucking drama queen._

"Listen, I'm just saying, you didn't need to do all this." Bill clapped a hand on Josh's shoulder, almost patronizingly. Josh gritted his teeth. "I mean, we both know drug overdoses aren't efficient or anything. You didn't really _want_ to die, you were just--"

"Faking it? You think I was fucking faking it? You think..." Josh took a deep breath... and then clasped his hands _tight_ around Bill's neck, screaming bloody murder all the while. Immediately, Bill's vision became spotty. How the hell was he supposed to hold up against fucking King Kong? Jerry immediately ran in to separate them. Pete, that bastard, just sat on the sidelines. He'd _always_ been jealous of Bill's superior intellect and good looks. _Fucking Pete._ Luckily, somehow Jerry had gotten absolutely shredded or something, because he managed to wrangle the rampant suicide whore before he managed to end Bill's life. 

"Aw, come on, Jerry." Pete finally spoke. "Would it really be that big of a loss?"

"No, Pete, shut up, come on." Jerry held Josh back by his arms until Josh finally managed to wear himself out. "Josh, you should--"

"Fuck off." Josh grunted, opting to hang limp from Jerry's arms, which no doubt would give Jerry horrible back pain in the morning. "I am dead, this is hell, that's why you're all here. Or- I must've done something to my mom.. God. Fuck." When Jerry finally released him, Josh simply opted to tug his knees up to his face. "Faking it. I hate you. You're all here because you hate me."

"Quit being such a baby, dude." Bill said. He got no reply, other than Pete and Jerry both scowling at him. "What? All I'm saying is, if you really wanted to finish it, you'd have done something more efficient."

"Well, _Bill_ , I didn't want to traumatize my mother. Not _again_ after that fucking zombie crawl shit, God I'm," Josh mumbled to himself a bit before continuing to speak at a level Bill could comprehend, "and I can't hang myself because- guess, no really, you're gonna love it. **I'm too fucking fat!** I can't even dangle for a fucking second, isn't that shit funny!"

"I'm not saying anything."

"You all hate me! Just admit it! Say it!"

Silence. Josh whined. Bill rolled his eyes.

"I'll come back later if you chill out."

"Don't come back! Come back never! Are you just... here to torture me? Is that it? All of you?"

Pete finally said something.

"The fuck gave you the idea I hate you?"

"You don't?" Bill asked. Pete gritted his teeth.

"No, Bill, I hate _you_."

"Come on, guys--"

"Fuck you, Jerry!" Pete shouted. "I goddamn hate when you say that!" 

"Get OUT of my ROOM!"

Josh's voice boomed, startling everyone else. Nobody was sure what to do. "I'll call the fucking nurse in here! I almost died! Why couldn't I just..."

Jerry tapped Bill, and motioned towards the door. Though Bill hardly cared that Josh wanted to be alone, seeing the big tub of butter cry made him feel a sort of pain in his chest that he couldn't explain.

_Did I always hate you?_


End file.
